


Breaking In

by Viridian5



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: An Assassin and White Shaman, Canon - Manga, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-03
Updated: 2002-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya's new membership in Weiß causes a stir.</p><p>(<i>Weiß : An Assassin and White Shaman</i> continuity)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking In

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for _Weiß : An Assassin and White Shaman_ volumes 1 and 2.
> 
> To make things more confusing, the _Weiß Kreuz_ canon differs widely between the episodes and the books. In fact, it seems to vary from book to book too. For the purposes of this fic, these are the differences important to me: the circumstances of Aya's family's deaths and his sister's coma, Schwarz's participation in all of that, Weiß's knowledge of Aya's circumstances, the meaning of Aya's earring, and, most important of all, the depiction of Aya's character. In the anime episodes, Aya is a sullen man of mystery and few words, cold and dead. He has one focus and doesn't care about anything or anyone else, not himself or other people. In _...White Shaman_, we see Aya from the inside as he's shattering, and we're handed all of his damage on a silver tray.
> 
> I'm working off the scans and translations (and using the character name spellings) provided by [Aya no Weiß kreuz Corner](http://kekkai.org/wkcorner/manga/manga.html).
> 
> Is it wrong of me to consider ["Glitter Girl" by Kidneythieves](http://viridian.shriftweb.org/100games.html#glittergirl) to be Aya's theme song for this story?

Sleep wouldn't come easily, even if "Aya" had warmed the bed for me. I could still vaguely smell him on my sheets. His scent had a tinge of blood to it. Nice of Persia to give us a fourth member who was already a broken-in killer.

He could have stayed; I hated to sleep alone. He was almost....

I shouldn't have watched him sleep or listened to his murmurings. I'd be better off not trying to get close. His sullen, dazed brush-off of my friendly overtures just underscored it.

I always got into trouble through my taste for a troubled pretty face. My tastes usually went for the ladies, but his particular method of dissociating himself from the part of himself that killed had fucked me up. Even with the katana in his hand and blood streaked on his pale skin, the pretty face, the black coat belted in at his slim waist, and the one long earring had said "woman" from a distance--Did he do that on purpose?--and I knew my women. All right, Omi would argue that point since I sometimes mistook him for Asuka after a particularly bad night, but otherwise I knew women. And this guy who wanted us to call him by his girlfriend or sister's name could pass sometimes, enough to hit my chivalry buttons.

"I'll... take Aya's place," he'd said....

Yeah, I knew better about him, especially since I'd dragged his boyish, too thin, yet dead weight to my bed. I couldn't leave him lying on the floor downstairs where he and Ken had beaten the shit out of each other until they'd both been KO'd. Putting a few small bandages on the worst of the scrapes Ken had given him had just been me being friendly to the new team member.

Still, even knocked out and bandaged up he'd looked so pretty, and when his dream had still been a happy one he'd smiled in a way that made him beautiful. Before the dream had gone bad on him. He kept saying "Aya" and "Aya-chan" on and off, and it sounded like he'd started begging her for something near the end....

We all had our dead and wanted vengeance. Hell, we _were_ dead, legally, except for Omi, who didn't have a past he remembered, and that had to be the worst of all. But "Aya" seemed to be breaking, and I didn't know how long he'd be able to go on killing, especially while doing it under the name of this girl he loved. Birman had been harsher and more highhanded than usual with him during her recruitment pitch--"Will you die here? Or will you become my dog? Decide."--but maybe she'd needed to be to break through.

Aya didn't want me to care about him, but if he'd be living here and working with us, I had to know that he could protect my back. We didn't need him snapping on us in the middle of a situation. That had nothing to do with liking, disliking, pitying, or wanting to fuck him and everything to do with survival.

He'd be back, since Persia probably had his hooks deeply in by now. It would be easier to decide whether I should shake some sense into him, steer well clear of him, or put some life back into his eyes the best way I knew how after I had some sleep.

  


* * *

I didn't feel real. My dreams felt realer than I did or reality did. I only knew the difference because Aya was awake and smiling in my dreams but she wasn't in real life. I found the dreams preferable, even if I couldn't look her in the eye with all the blood on my hands. Even if I couldn't touch her. Even if that voice told me that I was murderer and helped me lift my katana to my throat. Because she's awake and happy there, even if she won't talk to me.

Fuck. I left my katana in the flower shop, with those people. Sometimes I felt like I had no brain left at all. Maybe it _would_ be better to let them decide for me who I should kill.

They'd spoken of moving Aya to a better, more secure facility that would take care of her and keep her safe from Takatori. The better to keep my sister "safe" from me too if I ever tried to stop being their tame little assassin.

That Kudou Youji wanted to be friends, as if we could just be happy coworkers like any others, working in the flower shop by day and killing people by night.

A flower shop by day. No wonder my dreams felt realer than my life did.

I had no life. I should have been dead or in a coma like Aya, but the explosion barely scratched me. These assassins might as well call me "Aya," since Ran should have died with his parents. Aya's close to dead, and so am I. I've stripped away all the nonessentials until almost nothing of Ran remained anyway.

I was a purpose with a sword. Killing helped me earn enough to continue medical treatment for Aya until she could take care of herself again.

I remembered the arms that held me in my dream, the hand that helped me lift my katana to my own throat, the voice that told me I was no better than he was because I was a killer too. The voice had been... foreign somehow. It didn't belong to me.

At least the voice in my head telling me to commit suicide didn't really belong to me.

Is it a sign of sanity to understand that you're fucked up?

The voice had belonged to a person, and he'd held me so close as I sat on the bed in the dark with Aya gone....

I'd have to go back to the flower shop, because they could help me and Aya get our vengeance against Takatori and they had my katana. And I had nowhere else to go.

  


* * *

That had been vivid. The way I could feel him shaking against my arms and almost taste his tears.... If I'd known that Fujimiya's dreams could be so satisfying, I would have visited earlier. I hadn't even done much, since his dream had already started to darken on its own. It never failed to please me that people could hurt themselves so deeply, to the point where I only had to arrive and lap up the torment.

Fujimiya didn't realize how special he was. Few people ever noticed me at the scene of a crime. And so few people responded to the murder of their families by picking up a katana and seeking bloody vengeance.

Crawford would be pissed off, but Crawford spent most of his life that way. He saw events as being preordained, inevitable, and foreseeable--even when he personally didn't foresee them--so he couldn't understand the magic of instinct, the thrill of a moment when you can fall one way or the other and some deep part of your brain chooses your path for you. I should have killed Ran Fujimiya when I saw that the explosion had barely touched him, leaving him with only one picturesque scrape. Opportunities had even presented themselves, pretty as you'd please. Yet I hadn't killed him and still didn't know quite why I hadn't, and now he sought revenge on our employer.

I couldn't help feeling a vast amusement, since Ran Fujimiya was killing himself, splintering his psyche into pieces without any interference from me. I entered his dreams to help him see some truths about himself and offer him some suggestions on how to deal with his dilemma, but that was all. Yet in a way I'd helped birth this katana-wielding revenant, and he was as beautiful a fucked-up, killer child as I could ask for.

I'd keep my more philosophical musings on the matter to myself. Crawford didn't have a telepath's perspective and flexibility.

Needy and bereft, Fujimiya had leaned into my embrace. In life he pushed everyone away, but in his dream a part of him had welcomed _me_. Handled correctly, this might lead to places that would give Crawford something to be happy about....

 

### End


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